How to Grieve with Hope after the Loss of Charlie Kirk

I never met Charlie Kirk, but like millions of others, I felt like I knew him. His campus tour videos filled my social media feeds, and whenever I came across them, I stopped, listened, and took notes. Living near Phoenix allowed me to attend several of his events, and I have friends who work for TPUSA…so this tragedy hits close to home in more ways than one.

I’ve wrestled with whether to write anything about last week’s events. I’m not trying to add to the noise or capitalize on the interest in this story; instead, I’m trying to process how I’m feeling — and writing has always helped me do that. I hope my thoughts here may help someone else as well.

Every morning, I wake up and I’m almost instantly reminded that it happened. I ache for the loss of Charlie’s voice and his presence on a national level, but I grieve for his widow and children, who are waking up every morning without him there. I can’t imagine the loss she will feel every day as her children grow up without their dad, and she without her best friend.

This one hurts really bad, and as I scroll through the news, I find myself looking for hope – something good and true to hold onto when it seems like evil has won. I need the gospel to inform how I think about this event and how I process the tidal wave of information coming my way every day.

Hope isn’t hiding, but like our walk with the Lord, it requires intentional pursuit. Reading or watching the news is passive; holding onto hope is not. We have to nourish our minds with what never changes: God’s Word. When we turn there, we find an even greater wave of hope ready to meet us in our sorrow.

Paul told the Thessalonian believers not to grieve like those who have no hope (1 Thess. 4:13). Apart from Christ, death seems ultimate, as if it speaks the final word, but for those who are in Christ, death is only a temporary goodbye. It’s right to grieve and to weep with those who weep, but we should not grieve as those without hope. The empty grave assures us that as believers, death has no victory or sting, but only victory through Jesus Christ (1 Cor. 15:54-57).

Three Reasons We Can Grieve with Hope

1. Our hope is living.

Peter encouraged persecuted Christians with this truth: “According to [God’s] great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead” (1 Pet. 1:3).

Christian hope isn’t wishful thinking but a confident expectation of a future good. We often use the word hope to describe circumstances going our way, but the Christian’s living hope is fixed to something solid and sure—the resurrection of our Savior. So while death grieves us now, Jesus’ resurrection means we can be assured of our imperishable, undefiled, and unfading inheritance waiting in heaven for us (1 Pet. 1:4).

When a Christian dies, we have a living hope that their death has ushered them into their eternal reward.

2. Our hope is anchored.

The writer of Hebrews assures us of two unchangeable things: God cannot lie, and therefore, we have a hope set before us that is “a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul” (Heb 6:18-19). Unlike a ship’s anchor, which drops into the depths of the sea, a Christian’s anchor rises into heaven, fastening us to Christ himself. He has gone before us and made atonement for our sins.

It’s there in heaven…not here on earth…where our hope lives in the presence of our interceding High Priest. While Charlie worked tirelessly for the welfare of our nation (Jer. 29:7), his ultimate hope — and ours rests not in earthly victories, but in a heavenly country prepared for us (Heb. 11:16).

This tension is real: we desire the welfare of our nation, but Jesus’ kingdom is not of this world. We’re pilgrims, just passing through. Our ultimate home is in heaven, where death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore (Rev 21:4). Our primary purpose is to make heaven crowded.

3. Our hope is eternal.

Grief and suffering can overwhelm our vision, making it hard to see beyond our pain. Paul, who suffered afflictions of both body and soul, wrote to the Corinthian church, “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” (2 Cor. 4:17).

While grief is heavy now, that won’t be the case in eternity; someday it will seem feather-light by comparison.

Moses seems to ask for this balance of joy and sorrow in Psalm 90:14-15. “O satisfy us in the morning with thy lovingkindness that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days (our eternal weight of glory). Make us glad according to the days you have afflicted us, and the years we have seen evil (momentary, light affliction).

When we remember that the sorrows we face now are adding to the weight of glory we’ll experience someday, it makes it not seem so pointless. There’s a weight of glory that awaits!

Turning Point

Charlie Kirk had a rare gift for articulating truth in a way few others could, and his lightning-quick recall of studies, statistics, laws, logic, and Scripture was both entertaining and educational. You didn’t have to agree with everything he said to appreciate that he was at least willing to have the conversation, exchange ideas, and challenge people’s beliefs with facts.

I loved his uncompromising stance that human beings are made in the imago Dei (image of God), and how many of the evils of our day strike at the heart of this very truth. I also admired how boldly Charlie proclaimed the gospel to college students, politicians, and celebrities alike. He was powerful and influential, and also meek, offering a smile and grace when people hurled insults at him. For these reasons, and many more, the loss of Charlie Kirk is significant.

Whether you agreed with him or not, Charlie was also made in the imago Dei, and we should grieve his death. Whatever this moment may become, our Christian call remains the same: hold fast to our steadfast hope in Christ. As the world watches, by God’s grace, we can pray that it will be a real turning point. Charlie would’ve liked that.